


I don’t mind

by idkmybffspock



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Dennis Reynolds Has an Eating Disorder, Fat Mac McDonald, Fat Shaming, Intrusive Thoughts, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 12:34:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29384940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idkmybffspock/pseuds/idkmybffspock
Summary: Dennis' sober mind hated what Mac allowed himself to become.Or Mac gets his hands on some new records giving Dennis an excuse to enjoy himself.
Relationships: Mac McDonald/Dennis Reynolds
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	I don’t mind

“What’s up, bitches! Guess what Charlie and I got.”   
  
Dennis turned, conversation with Dee momentarily forgotten, to watch as Mac bounced happily through the door, excitement buzzing around him. He looked flushed and sweaty, shirt riding up to show off his growing stomach. Dennis held back his sneer, his eyes glued to the exposed skin.   
  


Why was Mac so goddamn disgusting. That soft jiggle as he spun in place, his cheeks rosier than Dennis has ever remembered them being, Jesus Christ, he looked happier too, Dennis hated it. Looking at Mac, seeing the extra weight he carried chewed at Dennis’ mind, his own body feeling the phantom drag and pull. His brain reminding him of what it would feel like to be bloated, covered in sweat, grease running down his neck onto his chest-   
  


Disgusted, Dennis briefly shook his head, dislodging the image. His temples pounded over the sudden movement, angry over the lack of food (absolutely not happening) and being jerked around.  
  


Mac claimed he was cultivating mass, Dennis was convinced Mac was punishing him.   
  
  
Before he could reply, a muffled voice- Charlie, shouted, “Hey! Watch the door!” Sounds of pounding and kicking followed after until Mac remembered and turned to let him in.   
  


Charlie stumbled into the bar, his face hidden behind two large boxes stacked on top of each other. “Dude, not cool!” His voice cracked as he tried to shift the weight around, bracing, his knuckles white as he kept his grip. His arms open wide to accommodate the width. “Fuck, these are heavy!”  
  


“Are you using your back?”  
  
  
“Of course I’m using my back!” Charlie turned, half fumbling and half pushing his load onto the booth closest to them as the boxes began to tip. “These things are heavy as shit, Mac.”  
  


“Jesus Christ, Charlie” Dee complained, her voice rattling in Dennis’ head, aggravating his budding headache.  
  


The top box’s weight was pushing into the bottom, threatening to break open. Dee pushed passed Dennis and over to the others, helping to arrange their new found treasure, setting them side by side and allowing Charlie to rest his arms.   
  


While Dee squawked about proper carrying techniques that Charlie argued were -not correct-, Mac made his way to the bar, meaty arms folded over the counter in an effort to lean closer to Dennis, “Hey.”  
  


“Okay, Mac, I’ll bite,” Dennis placed one of their standard beers down for Mac, who looked like he needed the refreshment. Beads of sweat gathered around his temples, it was early summer and the big lummox opted to wear one of his old shirts and jeans. The shirt stretched around his gut and arms, already stained and wet. Dennis was continuously baffled by how sweaty one man could get.   
  


Mac took a gulp, tipping back to get a mouthful. The sweat around Mac’s temple finally gathered enough weight and dripped down, running along his flushed cheek and into that overgrown beard. Some days found him wishing to drag his fingers through the bush, gripping and pulling while others, like today, Dennis really wanted to shave the damn thing off. He was once again reminded of slick grease, but this time coating his fingers. The sensation wouldn’t let up and no matter how much Dennis tried to drag his palm across his jeans or use the condensation on his beer, he was unable to wipe it away.  
  


“Thanks,” Mac smiled, taking another sip before wiping his brow with his arm.  
  


“What did the two of you find?” Dennis asked through his irritation. He was fine, his body was perfect. Nothing fattening came close to his mouth that week. He took a deep breath, smiling with too much teeth, and he knew it.   
  


Mac looked concerned for a moment, reaching out, only to hover his hand over Dennis’, who’s hand rested on the counter, “Den?”  
  


“Holy shit, Dennis!” Dee’s voice broke through, bringing the two of them back to the present.  
  
  
Mac jerked his hand away and looked toward the other two, beaming, “Someone was selling their 7inch records online! Free if we could pick them up within the hour,” Mac boasted, pushing away from the counter.  
  


“I’ve never seen Mac run so fast!” Charlie chimed in, pulling out a record and inspecting it.  
  


“Well, yea! I’m totally fit, dude. I can run for hours.”   
  


That explained why Mac looked so flushed and moist, Dennis thought, walking out from behind the bar.   
  


“Some woman was pissed that her guy was banging like a bunch of other chicks and wanted to get revenge.” Mac started to explain bumping shoulders with Dennis as the two walked over and settled in between Dee and Charlie. “I tried to get her number for you, man, but she just wanted us to take the records and leave.”   
  


“Thanks, buddy,” Dennis mumbled, his arm brushing up against Mac, their hands bumping. He used his free hand to look through the collection and avoid Mac’s endearing face. The picture of it was perfect in his mind, Mac’s eyes crinkling as he grinned with pride for having thought of Dennis in the moment.   
  


“Yeah, we had to bolt afterward too. The guy found out just as we were leaving the building and chased us down the street.” Charlie said, nose deep into the rows of records.   
  


“Lost that dumbass in the alley behind the dumpsters.” Mac laughed, “He just kept running. The thighs on that guy…” Mac’s voice cracked at the memory, Dennis waggered. He could imagine Mac tucked up against Charlie, watching the back end of some guy as he kept running down the street, bull headed and determined to catch them, Mac’s boner straining against his jeans.   
  


Dennis took that moment to peer down. If Mac was hard before, the evidence was long gone now, a real shame his ego was in need of a boost.  
  


“We could really use some updated music for the bar. You know, from this decade,” Dee commented from Dennis’ other side, pulling out several records and starting a pile.   
  


“Wham! Is a classic, Dee, and I will not stand to listen to this slander. Besides, who are we catering to? The old man who frequents the back booth? Or how about the homeless who find themselves in our bathroom? Hmm?”   
  


Dee frowned, glaring over at Dennis before collecting her new pile of records and heading over to the jukebox, “Whatever boner, Beyoncé is also a classic and I think we need to change the lineup.”   
  


“Oh, if we’re adding new records, what about some Garfunkel and Oates?” Charlie asked Dee, trailing after her.   
  


“Sure, why not?”   
  
  
“No! Absolutely not, the jukebox is fine the way it is,” Dennis yelled out, frustrated that Dee wouldn’t listen to him, headache full on blazing, and Mac, still wet- and fat, and, “Mac! What are you doing?”  
  


“Well, if Dee got to pick out records, and Charlie-” Mac’s own collection of records were piling up, Dennis could spot 311, Aerosmith, Bruno Mars, and was that, LMFAO?! What sort of band name was that?   
  


“No! No, stop-”   
  


Guh! Why was no one listening to him? Piece of shit, sure Dee was a constant pain but Mac should of- Mac, fat, fatty, fat, Mac-  
  


Mac quickly grabbed onto Dennis’ clenched fist while the others were distracted with pulling open the back of the jukebox.   
  


“Hey.” Mac’s voice was soft, like his stomach, his fingers warmer than normal, or was Dennis colder? His hand did look much more pale in comparison. “Den. We’ll change the records back tonight, when everyone leaves. Just the way you like them,” Mac’s thumb trailed along Dennis’ knuckles, loosening his grip.   
  


“Queen, David Bowie, the Eurythmics, whatever you want. I promise.”  
  


With a heavy, shaky sigh, Dennis let his body sag. Yeah, okay, Mac understood. Dennis curled his hand around Mac’s fingers as the silence calmed his growing nerves, Dee and Charlie’s chatter fading.   
  


Dennis felt himself getting pulled closer when Mac moved them into the booth, hands looped and still folded together, “C’mon Dennis, we can pick out better music than this bird!” Mac giggled, bumping up against Dennis trying to get his attention back. “Help me out, man. What do you think? 2Pac? Kid Cudi?”  
  


He pressed his thumb against Mac’s wrist. The faint thump of his pulse steadying Dennis- carrying his attention away from his own pounding head.   
  


“Let me see that stupid box.”   
  


Mac grinned pulling one of the boxes closer to the edge. 

* * *

At some point in the evening Frank emerged from the back office, muttering something about Viagra, melons, and strippers before dragging Charlie out the bar, probably to find those strippers, Dennis thought as he drowned his eighth beer of the night.  
  


Beer helped drown out his racing thoughts. The more he drank, the better he felt and the less he cared about the world. His skin stopped crawling, voices stopped sounding so scratchy, and Mac- Mac felt like home again.   
  


Dee and Mac were at the jukebox arguing about Destiny’s Child verses that Waterfall band they were all obsessed with as teenagers, Dennis didn’t give a shit who had the best songs or sold more. He only cared that the louder they got, the more Dennis wanted to strangle each of them. Eight beers were not enough for this shit.  
  


“Shut-up, you goddamn bitch! No Scrub is a classic!”

  
Sure, he could get his hands around Dee’s scrawny neck, but Mac would need a good, reliable rope and that would require him going back to their apartment, the asshole.   
  
  
“Hey! Stop, stop, stop, you’re going about this all the wrong ways!” Dennis shouted in an attempt to get them to stop. He walked around the pool table, standing in front of the song selection, only to find the song titles exactly like they were before. How the hell was he supposed to know what to pick? “You didn’t write any new labels?”   
  


Mac and Dee looked at each other before Mac shook his head, “Nah, man, if we’re changing them back tonight, there’s no point.”   
  


“Yeah, Dennis, lighten up,” Dee snorted, leaning over and pressing the next button, switching from Salt-N-Pepa’s Push It to The Lazy Song. “Today we don't feel like doing anything,” She parroted walking backwards as the song began to play.  
  


 _I just want to lay in my bed_ .  
  


Beside him, Mac whistled to the tune, slipping his hand below Dennis’ back, “Okay, but this song is great.”   
  


Dennis hummed in annoyance, face pinched, “Fuck, you’re right. It’s good.” He tried to side step away from Mac’s touch, but the other only followed with. His hand felt hot where it rested, the alcohol in his system telling him to lean in while his blasphemous mind reminded him about how sticky Mac tended to be. How gross, and sloppy he became.   
  


He jerked his head in an attempt to shake out those invading thoughts. Sure, Mac wasn’t the best looking, and he was annoying as shit but his mind really needed to quiet down. “Mac, buddy, get me another beer.”  
  


“Sure, Dennis.” Mac slipped away and headed to the mini fridge at the end of the bar, pulling out two beers until Dee snipped at him for her own.   
  


They carried on like that. Dee switched out the songs when they got repetitive, Mac fetching more beers, and Dennis lulling into a muffled daze as the alcohol finally started to kick in. 

* * *

Mac felt soft, the way Tibbs used to feel tucked against Dennis’ chest at night. A calming comfort amongst all the screaming when he allowed it to be. Dennis tightened his grip around Mac’s shoulder, pulling him closer and pressed his face into Mac’s shirt, taking a deep breath in. Mac’s arms circled around him as they continued to sway to the music.   
  


“Where’d Dee go?” Dennis asked, realizing he hadn’t heard her voice in some time. Actually, he hadn’t heard anything except Mac’s wheezing and occasional giggle if he was being honest.  
  


“She left like- ‘n hour ago, dude.” Mac replied, nosing against Dennis’ neck, lips brushing along the collar of his sweater.   
  


Oh. Just the two of them.  
  


Dennis turned his head toward Mac, sharing a breath before his own giggling started.   
  


Just the two of us.

  
 _You and I_.

Dennis staggered a bit, eyes unfocused trying to find his balance, “Fuck, thank god you’re so big.” He could just hold onto Mac and wouldn’t have to worry about the both of them falling as long as Mac didn’t try to lift him. The perfect arrangement.   
  


Mac’s big, round arms holding Dennis up when he needed it the most.   
  


He fell against Mac again, moving his hands down his sides, fingers digging in and grabbing onto the extra leverage.   
  


“Dennis,” Mac huffed, shifting his hips only for Dennis to chase after him, pressing their bodies more firmly together. Oh, yea, Mac was into this.   
  


Into Dennis, and all his goddamn gorgeous glory.   
  


“Put on something different, I wanna dance. Let’s dance, Mac!”   
  


The nervous swallow that followed sent Dennis into a giddy mess. He loved all of Mac’s stupid little hiccups that gave him away. Every lingering look, the heated flush, whenever Mac licked and bit his bottom lip, every single one reminded Dennis how desirable he was, and he loved it.   
  


Hmm, or he loved alcohol. Either way he wanted more.  
  


They pulled apart momentarily. Mac flipped through the different songs, Raise Your Glass, Bye-Bye-Bye, Hey Ya, while keeping an eye on Dennis who ventured behind the machine.   
  


They both knew what was behind there.  
  


Creme De Menthe, Dennis’ secret stash, disgusting at best with it’s only real value being the minty taste. Dennis took a swig of it before passing it to Mac, shaking the flask until the big guy held his breath, took a gulp and rinsed his mouth out. Dennis grinned when Mac swallowed, taking it back and tucking it away again. Good boy.   
  


_All the crazy shit I did tonight  
  
_

“Tho’se will be ‘e best memories,” Dennis sang with the lyrics, attaching himself back onto Mac.   
  


So, sometimes, when the mood hit, Dennis would listen to the radio. Late nights when he needed to escape from the life he created. Not all the songs were awful. And to no one, not even himself, he had to admit that it felt good to listen to something other than the 80s. Some band that he didn’t curate for himself. Besides, that David Guetta really set the tone, Dennis reasoned with himself.   
  


“I jus’ wanna let ‘n go for the night,” He continued, flipping around and pressing his back against Mac, pushing. Mac easily slotted them together and hooked his hands around Dennis’ waist helping him grind in place.

“Tha’ n’ be the best therapy for me,” Mac kissed down Dennis’ neck, nuzzling against his shoulder blades, one hand trailing up and under the sweater Dennis wore, “Hey, hey…” He mumbled working his hips in the way Mac liked.   
  


“Yeah… yeah,” Dennis sighed holding onto Mac’s wrist, moving it farther down his front. 

  
Mac caught on quickly, groping Dennis, rubbing between his legs and moving to unbutton his pants.   
  


Using his free arm, Dennis brought them impossibly closer, tugging on Mac’s hair, imagining them rocking to the rhythm without the confines of their jeans. No one was around, Mac could easily manhandle him against one of the booths in the back, force his face down, his cheek pressed against the surface or fold Dennis’ body in half as he fucked him on the table.   
  


With how worked up Dennis felt, they could rub one out and would still have energy left to spar. The floor was never fun, but the pool table could work.  
  


Mac enjoyed when he saw Dennis’ face. In those moments, Dennis flushed and eyes rolling back, it always seemed to spur Mac on, tapping into an extra reservoir of energy. Dennis preferred not looking at his partners, however Mac, cultivating his mass, demonstrating all that power he claimed to have was Dennis’ only exception.

“Baby,” Dennis repositioned them, cupping Mac’s cheek and licking against that fat bottom lip, the song long forgotten.   
  


“It’s gettin’ late, Den,” Mac muttered.  
  


Dennis leaned in, kissing Mac, “I don’ mind.”

**Author's Note:**

> I drew these last year after someone commented that they liked to imagine Mac and Dennis slow grinding to Lose Yourself to Dance. 
> 
> I decided to use Fat Mac, where at the time (2012) that song hadn't come out yet. Finally got around to writing something quick for it. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
